Love's Arete
by peaceinfiction
Summary: A classic story about a monster who falls for an intelligent beauty, with a mythical twist. Belle is tired of her boring life in a small town. Until, one day she wakes up only to find a much worse fate awaits her than even marriage to the odious Gaston ever could be. (This fic will probably be updated very sporadically. Rated M just in case)
1. Chapter 1: Intro

Disclaimer: I am flattered that anyone might think I ever could think up any of the amazingness of is _Beauty and the Beast._ However, I am not "as old as time" andI am merely borrowing the story for a moment.(A note for those of you lucky enough never to have read Aristotle's _Nicomachean Ethics_ , the title of this fic is based off of one of his favorite terms. Kudos to anyone who gets where I am going with it.)

Saluete. Bonjour. Hello.

I greet you, you who have chosen this tale.

Before I start my story, I must cation those who choose to lightly read my story. I am not going to tell a fairytale, or some Disney rubish stolen from a myth. I will tell it exactly as it is, as I remember. Take it or leave it, I am not bothered.

To those who stay, I will set the stage, because I must leave behind the world of enchantresses to the much more gruesome reality. The terror of the Gods. My story is not a gentle one, free from corruption, intrigue, or human error: I was a sacrifice to Love. And not the noble kind.

The poets will write about the a love to span centuries, the bards with sing of a mighty spell broken by a kiss, and historians...well, history will forever be defined in the subjunctive. The psycho-analysists will tell me I suffered from "stockholme syndrome". I guess they would be right but the heart has no reason and Eros was always the most fickle.

What do I care. I will continue to be rewritten, resung, and repainted. For now, all I care is that you at least learn my name. I have been known as Belle, Beauty, Anima...but the name closest to my heart, the tale least told, is about a girl called Psyche.

For you though, my dear readers, I will tell you of my years spent in arete.

A/N Please Review and tell me how you like it plus any questions or comments.

 _Arete~ 1) moral virtue or happiness derrived of inner beauty._

 _2) the narrow ridge of rock between two valleys._


	2. Chapter 2: It Begins

Thank you to all those who read my humble story, as ever, sadly I do no own _Beauty and the Beast_ even if I would love to.

 _"French" and 'Thoughts'_

It Begins

A small town off the coast of France, 18th Century A.D.

She awoke to the smell of smoke: green wood burning in the villiage square. Belle rubbed her eyes, squinting against the acrid billows of burning willow. Willow. Her tree... Her brain had cleared enough from the vestiges of sleep to register that simple thought.

Quickly she pulled herself from her smalll cot and pacing to the well-worn wardrobe by the window Belle grabbed a simple cotton dress from a hook. Pulling it over her head and tying on a pair of thick-soled boots she hung a traveler's bag onto her left shoulder.

They had prepared for this day. Her father, Maurice was already rumaging around in the kitchen when Belle poked her head around the door frame. " _Mon cheri_ " he softly entoned, "Come take this bread, the money is in the bag... just, just go."

"Papa?" Belle queried, "what about you?"

"I will follow shortly. I'll meet you by the apple tree behind _La Roche_ , my tools are still on the work bench. I need to clear up the shop so it looks like we are traveling to display my inventions. Do not worry. Besides, why would they care about an old man? But you, you need to go Belle. I love you, be safe." 'Ominous _words',_ he pondered, but he felt the need to assure her. _"I Love you."_ _So like her mother,_ Maurice thought. _Never a moment to think of her own safety.'_

 _'Now where did I put that lever?'_

Belle crouched under the apple tree reading one of the few books she had burrowed into the knapsack. she mused _'Father had said he would be here by now, it's almost seven o'clock. He knows they will come to the house soon. Why is he delaying?'_

It was not the first time the soldiers had come to the villiage, but the last time had seen more than a few girls snatched from their families to help "care for" the Grand Army's battallion. Belle had seen her own neighbor, a young woman named Danielle, rudely pushed into a cart to be taken away to the nearby fort. Luckly, the young beauty was not old enough to have been taken herself, but several of the men had leered at her. A promise. This time around she would not have been so fortunate.

A rustle in the bushes. Belle nearly sighed in relief, before she paused.

It was not Maurice as she had assumed. Instead, staring down at her in gleaming leather boots, white pantatoons, and shiny red surcote, was a man.


	3. Chapter 3: Heat

As this is my first story, I think I am doing quite well. Please Read and reveiw!

I do not own _Beauty and The Beast_ or anything associated with the movies, stories, or it's general fabulousness. I do however, own a very nice pair of faux leather boots. Now on to the story!

The man, whom Belle assumed to be a soldier in the _Grande Armee_ did not hurry to grab her as she thought he would.

He tipped his tricorn hat to her and greeted in a foreign accent, " _Enchante Madmoiselle." "Bonjouir"_ she politely replied, shying away from his larger frame. Belle frowned at him. ' _This was the moment of truth. Would he reveal her, to stand in the center of the town square with the other, simple girls? To be poked and prodded then sold to the higgest ranking and highest bidding general?'_

And then he shouted. ' _There goes that hope'_ Belle mourned.

"Over here, another girl. A runaway this one!" the man called. The part of her brain which thrived on books and cleverness briefly registered the voice as American. One of the many men sent to help out the "Democratic" Nation of France. Never one to stand idly by as she watched her life go up in flames around her, with doe-like eyes Belle studied the man who had discovered her.

Grimmly, Belle surveyed her options, ' _She couldn't run, not when her father was still in the house. No, better to follow them meekly and then slip away when they least expect it.'_

Belle took in her surroundings, she was stationed in a line of other girls. Plumette, the adorable merchant's daughter, stood beside her wringing the strings of her apron, muttering obscenities. Across the expanse of the square, a line of soldiers in full battle regalia stood at attention. She scoffed, _'As if it were some formal event and not a mockery of their power over us'._

The fire at the center of town still burned fiercely; through the haze Belle could just make out the reassuring figure of Maurice. His hands were moving, gesturing, but she couldn't make out what he was articulating. Like one of his beloved marionettes, miming uselessly.

She felt removed from it all, like a sort of clockwork doll twisted to and fro. Sweat dotted her brow. The fire was too hot, books weren't meant to withstand that sort of heat. Was that all she was in the world, a book?

She was burning, burning...

Cliffhanger. Thank you very much! Please comment & give me corrections, that's how I get better.


	4. Chapter 4: The square

I'm back! Sorry it has taken me so long to update this fic. I am currently traveling abroad, with limited internet access, so please forgive my late posts.

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Burning, Burning

It felt like all of the nerves in her body were burning as she looked deep into his laughing face. "You!" Belle exclaimed. All she received in return was a smile.

Grinning like the cat that got the canary, Gaston stood in front of her. "Cheri, you didn't think that your pathetic attempts to dissuade me would work, did you?" Belle bit her lip as Gaston went on, "When you rebuffed me in the square yesterday, I realized I did not need to woo you with kind promises. I could just take you, and take you I will." he vowed.

Mustering up some courage, she stated, "No, you need to bid just like everyone else. Or is Monsieur Gaston too high and mighty to follow procedure?" she spat his name like a curse.

"Oh I will enjoy watching you..." he breathed "Just look, it is beginning."

Indeed it was. The girls all around her were beginning to strip. As this barbaric tradition dictated, just as in old slave auctions, the young women would be forced to appear before the crowd clad only in shifts, in order to check if the "property" was undamaged. This humiliating ritual forced the girls to discard modesty, so that even if the lucky ones were bid on and returned to their families, they would still never be as pure and untouched as they were few lucky "survivors" of the last auction had demurely accepted whatever slapdash husbands could be gotten.

Belle was sure she wouldn't have that problem.

Maurice would surely bid for her, but he could never hope to compete with that bastard Gaston. Instead, she would live out the rest of her days as Gaston's pet-wife if she was fortunate, and his unwilling mistress if not.

Turning, she saw Plumette begin to pull off her skirts. Belle looked down at her modest attire. "No" she stated simply. "If you want me to go before that pyre and throw in my dignity along with my skirts, then you will be disappointed. You might as well tie me to a stake as sacrifice to the _Gods_ in this country," with steadfast derision Belle made her bid.

Plumette stared at her askance. Belle stood resolutely in front of the now-jeering soldiers. "I would sooner die."

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Read and Review!


	5. Chapter 5: Flashback

Extra chapter (because I have been terrible at updating)

As I am beginning to outline more of this story, updates should come a little faster (every couple of days)

Just to clear up a few plot holes I left: The fire is for burning the women's clothing. A bit ritualistic, but in these times they probably would have had fleas and other vermin in their clothing (they are from a small village), and the "tradition" serves the purpose of ridding them of some of their past and making them more vulnerable. The "soldiers" on the other hand, are a bit like a militia. These creepy guys are paid for their efforts & because my timeline is in the middle of the Napoleonic wars, during this period they are just waiting for orders. These militant forces were renowned for terrible behavior, so it is not too much of a stretch of the imagination that this group would come up with something like this for the women of the town forced to host them.

I hope that clears up any queries, if not, feel free to PM me with any questions.

So mote it be,

Peaceinfiction

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"I would rather die"

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 _Flashback_

"Help, Help! I don't want to die. I'm too young. Come back. Come back. I hate you. Don't leave me, Father! Sisters! Sisters! Come back, Come back. I love you. I'll be good, I promise. Just don't let me die...Please...come *hic* back...I don't want to die." The girl screamed from the mountain top, pale face blotchy with tears.

Psyche's beautiful visage turned haggard with the force of her agony. Turning violent, violet eyes to the heavens she bellowed to the clouds: "Curse you, I curse you all. Ye gods who play the mortals like the strings of a zither. I swear I will not bend. You beasts who would take me before my time. You could never love, or find joy in mortal things..." sobbing, "Why must you turn all against me. Would you now take my life upon this dreary hilltop? If so, take it painlessly, so that I might shuffle off this mortal coil with grace, and not as the abandoned child of my father."

She hung her beautiful, golden head.

The wind teased one of her many braids, untangling the long tresses. Alone on the mountain Psyche could not distinguish dream from reality as she saw her bindings unravel in a joyous delirium, and a breath so soft it could have merely been Zephyrus's breeze whispered sweet nothings to her.

Finally Psyche settled into sleep, full of dreams of wings and marble halls, Olympus in it's majesty.


End file.
